


Rainy Mornings and Black Coffee

by Anonymississippi



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, that leads into some domestic sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymississippi/pseuds/Anonymississippi
Summary: It's been three months since Astra's mandated house arrest at Alexandra's apartment. Months since she gave up Myriad, and months since she fell hopelessly in love.Perhaps blueberry pancakes and a rainy National City morning will help her put voice to her feelings. Perhaps a pot of coffee and a kiss or two will even see those feelings requited.Domestic General Danvers love confessions since all I seem to write is angst :D





	Rainy Mornings and Black Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlelamplight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelamplight/gifts).



> happy birthday Lampy, you gorgeous button of a human

Ever since her arrival on earth, former High General Astra In-Ze had always held a hazy sort of reverence for National City mornings. On this innocuous Tuesday, rain tapped against brick and iron and glass panes on Alex’s balcony while streams of sunny rays broke the light layer of cloud cover ten miles away, shooting from the stratocumulus formations like spotlights from the rigging of a theater. Darker clouds loomed over the ocean, trudging steadily toward the California coast. 

The storm would soon be upon them, and Astra couldn't wait.

She loved rainy mornings.

Astra turned to peer over the balcony’s ledge, gazing inland at the shrinking cityscape. The chilled, foggy morning was a blessed relief from the high heat of the typical National City summer, a season that had led to some rather interesting personal developments since her tentative peace treaty was brokered with the DEO three months previous. She curled her fingers over the iron railing and thought of charged evenings spent here, technically under house arrest, supervised by a peculiarly intriguing human agent with a penchant for nightcaps in the city air, who took advantage of a spacious, welcoming balcony.

A balcony Astra would need to abandon shortly, so she could return to her post stove-side. Padding across the threshold of the sliding door and airy blue-grey curtains, Astra joined the breakfast chorus of cooking sound effects and launched into an favored tune:

“ _And to the tails of comets bright, and to the stars above that shine, I toast to their evolving light, but claim your glowing heart as mine—”_

The English translation left much to be desired. Thus Astra stuck to Kryptonese while singing to her self, under her breath, punctuated by the occasional _ping_ of spatula against metal rim and the melodic _hiss_ of sprayed cooking oil against the griddle. The crescendo came with that cursed alarm she’d forgotten to disable on the coffee pot when she’d poured roughly twelve cups of water into the plastic well, knowing Alex would drink every last bit of it on a morning in.

Thankfully, the alarm was not as persistent as the rogue Margoi Alex had spent the better portion of the night tracking down. When she’d returned after tracking, battling, arresting, and processing the hostile, it had been well after midnight. Astra had not been there. In fact, she’d been kept on the fringes of most missions, brought in periodically for consultations and to assist with the physical training of new operatives. It was a welcome break from her secret identity down at NCU—a nontraditional ecology student who was returning for a master’s degree after a stint in the military.

The thought that she couldn’t be there for Alex was one that she grappled with far more often than she would like to admit. Alex was capable, and strong, but her belief in Alex’s abilities was tempered by the experience of a seasoned general—even the best operatives could sustain injury or worse in the field.

The Margoi from the previous evening’s mission had been spreading a harmful virus to the few aliens who’d been assigned to the southeastern sector of National City under the amnesty provisions (or so Alex claimed). Astra found it pleasing that Alex would relay such sensitive information about her missions over dinner as they cooked together, or sat together, or merely read in each other’s company. The implications of trust left a warm stirring in her gut, like a hearty meal ingested after coming in from the cold.

And perhaps Astra waited up on Alex, as she did every night Alex’s missions ran late. And all the while she stress-cleaned and tried to study concepts years behind the ones she studied on Krypton; she reminded herself that Alex was alright, she had Kara, she was a _professional._ A professional who deserved every ounce of rest her body would grant her, and maybe some blueberry pancakes when she woke.

Astra slipped the spatula underneath the tanned breaded circle and flipped it so the other side would cook, thinking back to her first foray with flapjacks.

 

* * *

 

 

“No one calls them flapjacks, Astra,” Alex had corrected her, whisking the batter into gooey white paste that looked more spoiled than edible. “Unless you’re from like… bum-fuck Egypt.”

“And where exactly is Bum-Fuck Egypt?” Astra had followed up, placing impatient hands on her hips as she peered into the giant red mixing bowl.

The metal whisk scraped the bottom with every turn of Alex’s wrist, but Astra was unsure that the completed product would be worth all of this preparation. She was one week into her mandated house arrest with Alex, and thus far they had covered BLTs, Break-n-Bake cookies, and microwavable meals which left much to be desired by Astra’s palette, and, significant concern for Agent Danvers’s eating habits.

“Flap-jack must be a regionalism there. I did do my research on the dish once you told me what we would be practicing, and found a number of similar dishes: hotcakes, waffles, blintzes, crepes, French toast—”

“Let’s stick with pancakes for now,” Alex had smiled, turning toward the burner.

“Alex?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you offer to house me after my release?”

Alex kept whisking, pausing momentarily to tuck a stray lock of hair that had ventured into her line of vision. She removed the whisk from the batter bowl and held a hand an inch or so over the pan to feel the heat.

“Would you have rather I let them leave you in that cell?”

“I’m sure there are other options for housing that your organization could’ve posed as a solution for my admittedly unique… predicament,” Astra had said.

“Maybe so,” Alex said, tipping the bowl over until the batter fell in a thick flow golden, gelatinous goop.

“And yet you’ve given me your spare bedroom.”

“No one really uses it.”

“You objected to the use of a Kryptonite inhibitor,” Astra pushed, taking Alex’s wrist and halting any further cooking ritual. She would not have believed at the moment in sparks or jolts of affection, and that persistent warmth that she felt must have to do entirely with the stove before her, and not the way Alex’s hairs stood on end when her fingers brushed over her knuckles. “…why would you do that, Agent Alexandra Danvers?”

“Alex,” she corrected, focus jumping quickly from the searing point of contact on her skin and back to the countertop sprinkled in instant pancake mix. “And it was nothing, okay? You’re family. Kara trusts you. You gave up Myriad. You know it’s just a six-month trial period just to appease the powers that be at the clearance level above J’onn, and then you can move on with whatever life you want to live,” Alex flung the arm Astra had stayed out in front of her in some careless gesture that Astra took to represent her life’s trajectory, but that did little to solve the mystery of Alex’s benevolence.

Astra propped a hip against the counter and picked at the cotton pocket of her yoga pants, if only so she would not reach out for Alex again.

“That seems much too generous a deal for the sins I’ve committed.”

Alex huffed and reached for a handful of whole blueberries, dropped them in the cooking circle of batter, and then gently, briefly, curled her fingers around Astra’s own and squeezed.

To comfort.

To reassure.

It was a strange gesture of familial solidarity, for if Astra supposed it was anything more, she would surely melt into a puddle less solid than the bowl full of batter before her.

“Take it from someone who used to hold a very similar opinion of herself. Someone who… well, everybody lapses now and again.”

“Alex?”

“You deserve a lot better than you think you do, Astra.” Alex shoved the edge of the spatula beneath the cooked side of the pancake and flipped it over, little balls of blueberry juice bleeding like pulsing nerves and crawling over the surface of the cooked side.

“What do you know of what I deserve?” Astra pushed. For that was customary, that pushing, that relentless forward drive, the assault of one trained to complete a mission, or to find an answer that would satisfy an opinion she had already stubbornly formed. “You can never understand all I… the things I have done…”

“I think,” Alex proclaimed, shifting those questing fingers in Astra’s hand higher, warmer, achingly sweeter, to cup Astra’s wet cheek. Wet, for she had allowed a tear to slide down the concave curve of her cheek without notice. “I think if you can resolve your guilt with the past you’ll be able to more clearly see what’s right in front of you.”

Even if she looked down, Alex’s hand was too close to see properly.

How could Astra ever see clearly again?

With this blissful, curious high engendered by Alex’s touch? It was pleasant, and foreign, and made her feel as nothing ever had before. She was reduced to sensation, for her sight had gone completely blurry: yet, she could register every ridge from Alex’s fingerprint, even the tiny, questioning shakes where the tips of Alex’s hand brushed her temple. To stay them, to ground herself, to take full advantage of this moment, this solace, for however long she might, she brought her own hand to cover Alex’s shaking one at her cheek, and dipped her chin down to collect herself.

“What is it that’s right in front of me, Alexandra?” she murmured uncertainly. “It has been quite some time since I’ve had anything of my own. Anything… or anyone worth having at all.”

When Astra felt brave enough to look up once again, Alex had abandoned her task at the stove. She had instead shifted closer, closer than they’d ever been when not locked in combat with her, close enough that Astra could make out the indent at her cheek, the miniscule scar on her chin, the uncertain pinch at her brow.

“I’m gonna hug you now, if that’s okay?” Alex mumbled.

“What?”

“Can I hug you?”

“Oh, uhm…” Astra nodded quickly before that creeping doubt dared charge her to overanalyze, and Alex fitted herself against her in the kitchen of her National City midtown apartment like she had done it a thousand times.

The embrace, with one hand curling up from her waist and the other reaching over her shoulder and down, scratching the store-brand cotton against her skin, pushing them into each other… the hug felt more secure than any prison Astra had ever been in. It felt more forgiving than any lenient sentence, more pure than… than perhaps even Kara’s smile. Astra could do nothing but sink into it and clutch at Alex’s back, too overwhelmed by the smells of pomegranate shampoo and blueberry pancakes to really register what Alex was mumbling into her neck. Her fingers gripped at the fabric of Alex’s ribbed tank top and she held on for dear life, for after the final battle with Myriad, after Alex’s stunning display of power in the Kryptonite exo-suit, Astra had come to associate Alex with life and death itself.

“Pardon?” Astra asked, reluctant to pull away but knowing she had to, if she ever wanted to understand what Alex was saying. And maybe the only thing more enchanting than Alex’s smell, and her embrace, was the shining look in her brown eyes and the sound of resolve she always held at the edges of her voice.

It was at that moment in Alex’s kitchen that Astra found herself in over her head, sinking into something she should never dare have hoped for.

“Family, Astra,” Alex repeated, though Astra had to use significant mental energies to backtrack to what they had been talking about before. Anything before the moment Alex touched her was irrelevant. Any life she lived before Alex hugged her seemed like a life lived by another person. “What’s right in front of you? Family. Kara wants you back in her life. Your help at the DEO has been essential to our recovery missions, and J’onn is glad to have someone else to speak with who isn’t human, even if he’ll never admit it.”

Astra released Alex reluctantly, quickly swiping at her own cheek. “Thank you, Alexandra.”

“Anytime,” she said, removing the pancake from the pan. “Oh damn…” she cursed, prodding distastefully at the black char in the middle of the plate. “Burned it.”

“I am proving a rather unfortunate distraction,” Astra said.

“Nah,” Alex said, taking up the whisk and bowl again, slathering butter in the pan to grease the insides once more. “Distraction or not, you’re family to me now, too, I guess, and no family of mine will go through life on Earth not knowing how to cook blueberry pancakes.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Mmmmornin’,” Alex grumbled, shuffling barefoot and pantsless into the kitchen, her overlarge and well-worn t-shirt from The White Stripes covering most of the bruises on her abdomen that Astra had been careful to avoid last night when she held back the covers and gently cradled Alex as she drifted off from exhaustion.

“Good morning,” Astra said, pointing immediately at the full coffee pot.

Alex stopped dead in her tracks and gave Astra a look, surveyed the countertops full of bacon crumbles and the stick of butter and the half-eaten jar of Nutella (Alex’s favorite for pancakes, Astra remembered), and then stutter-stepped toward the cabinet to pull down a mug. Astra left her to her ritual while she finished the scrambled eggs. Once they were cooked up to yellow, fluffy blobs, she shooed Alex toward the barstool at the counter and placed a fully prepared plate of blueberry pancakes, bacon, eggs, and butter in front of her. Accompanied by orange juice. Behind that came a full glass of ice water and two Advil.

“I’m gonna have to pee so bad if I drink all that,” Alex muttered, grabbing her fork to begin hacking away at the pancakes. A solid cup of maple syrup followed the application of the butter, and then ketchup for the eggs, and Astra really wondered if Kara’s Kryptonian eating habits were starting to rub off on her sister.

“Better to hydrate and expel impurities than risk unnecessary exhaustion.”

Alex rolled her eyes and beckoned Astra back across the counter, much to Astra’s confusion.

“You think breakfast and coffee is all I need for a good morning after a night out saving the world, General?”

“Well if you wanted hashbrowns I could go—oh, yes, my apologies.”

Astra moved to the other side of the kitchen island and placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, then dipped down to press a solid kiss against her lips. She loved the way Alex’s hand guided her, curling around the base of her neck, dragging her in to taste. She never would have guessed that three months after her first foray into pancake-making she would land back here, in Alex’s kitchen, with the woman’s tongue sliding smoothly along her upper lip.

She pulled away and let her fingers slide along the collar of Alex’s shirt. In the meanwhile, Alex had taken it upon herself to get Astra as close as humanly possible, twisting atop the bar stool and spreading her legs wide, tugging at Astra’s hips so that she came to stand square between her legs. Alex draped her arms round her middle and her fingers grazed over the patch of skin at Astra's lower back that always tempted her whenever Astra’s nightshirt started riding up in bed. Alex let her head rest directly over Astra’s chest and placed a kiss against her sternum.

“You’re warm,” Alex said to her chest.

“And you have morning breath,” Astra said, burying her hands in Alex’s hair.

She rubbed tiny circles along the nape of her neck, remembering that one evening Alex had groaned under her touch, groaned and nearly wept as Astra had worked tense muscles so used to the strain of PT, so accustomed to the constant soreness associated with missions. She took every opportunity she could to touch Alex in the smallest of ways while they were encased in the cocoon of privacy Alex’s apartment provided. Between DEO missions and Cadmus, the return of her sister and Cat’s tentative truce with the elder Luther woman, the restful, slower moments of mornings in with Alex became all the more precious.

In the dim dawning, in the rain, with breakfast smells and Alex’s kiss on her lips, Astra couldn't think of anywhere else she’d rather be.

“Do I?” Alex looked up and Astra loved her in that moment, in every moment, loved her and never said a word about it, just like she’d been doing (or… _hadn’t_ been doing) for the past three months.

“Your eggs are getting cold,” Astra said, kissing Alex’s brow gently, moving away to prepare her own plate.

“Lucky me with an alien roommate that could heat them right back up for me,” Alex said, picking up her fork and reaching for the salt and pepper.

“I would not push your luck, Alexandra. Do you recall the snafu with the lasagna for your mother?”

“Ugh, never again,” Alex groaned, stuffing a forkful of pancake into her face and chasing it with a swig of piping hot coffee. She beamed at Astra as Astra cut a small pat of butter for her pancakes, and took her place across from Alex.

“Yum! I just… I love this, you know?” Alex looked up at Astra and brought the glass of orange juice to her lips, gulping down the pulpy liquid Astra wouldn’t dare touch.

“Me, too,” Astra confessed, though she definitely wasn’t referring to the breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

Half an hour later the pans were soaking in the sink and the pot of coffee was well on its way to being empty. Astra was leaning as carefully against Alex as she could on the couch, serving her turn as the proverbial "little spoon" no matter how much she disliked the terminology. She very much liked being held, however, wedged as she was between Alex's legs, preoccupied with brushing patterns over her knee. Alex had propped herself against the arm of the couch and had beckoned Astra to her, flipping the television on to some trite morning news channel that was giving a lot more coverage to the 10 Best Ways to Bar-b-Que a Chicken Quarter than they were to the alien amnesty bill.

Astra sighed, semi-content in her daze, paying a bit more attention to Alex's arms around her than the nonsense playing on the television.

Somewhere around the first teaspoon of cumin for the homemade sauce, Astra felt Alex’s lips on her neck. And it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, since Alex had graciously brushed her teeth post pancake-ingestion. Still a bit of coffee on her tongue, but that was a flavor Astra had come to love. And then there were Alex’s devilish human hands, running down and over her thighs and dragging themselves back up against her torso, taking some of her sleep shirt with it. Astra allowed Alex her explorations for as long as she possibly could; plus, the attention at her neck and shoulders felt undeniably wonderful.

“Hey,” Alex said.

“ _Hey_ yourself, Alexandra.”

Alex snickered and took Astra’s earlobe between her teeth and that damn well did it. Astra arched into the hand that was currently playing along the outside muscles of her leg and dragged it inward, twisting her neck so she could finally get a taste of Alex’s mouth. The rain hit harder against the window and somewhere in the touching and the kissing and the moving against one another Alex had found the glorious brain capacity to mute the damned television, so that all Astra could hear was their labored breathing and pathetic moans. Diffused light shone off Alex’s flushed cheeks and bathed them both in rainshower greys, colors and sounds and smells swirling together to create the perfect moment, the perfect chance for Astra to say—

“You know I love you, right?” Alex murmured.

Alex was breathing heavily from their kisses, and Astra had to twist, to turn to her side and sit up properly and blink twice. She had to calm the blood rushing through her ears and tell her soul to get back in her body so she could make sure she’d heard Alex properly.

“I… what?”

“Earlier,” Alex said, stealing another kiss, placing her hand against Astra’s cheek. She kissed her again, and then once more, deep and long and with the promise of extended kisses that Astra nearly forgot that Alex had spoken in the first place. “When I said ‘I love this’? I meant… I meant I love _you_.”

“I…I—”

“I just… I know you’re moving in with Alura in two weeks and it was bad timing but I just… I never thought—”

“I love you,” Astra rushed to say, to turn, to crawl up on her knees across those overstuffed couch cushions and straddle Alex until she was forced to careen her neck sky high, to tilt practically vertical in order to meet Astra’s intense stare. “I love you so much and I’ve loved you for—for—I could not say how long. I’ve loved you since pancakes. I’ve loved you since the moment you dragged Kara away while Lane—while he—”

“Astra, don’t—”

“I’ve loved you since the day you defeated the Hellgrammite, since he dragged you into my presence on that dirty warehouse floor and I saw humanity for the first time.”

She dipped down to kiss Alex again, and then again. She let her tongue swoop and her hips grind into Alex’s lap, let her fingers tug and pull and get rid of those offending _clothes_ , the cotton that was nothing like the robes of Krypton but still smelled like Alex, like her detergent, like they washed their items together because they lived together and they loved each other, but they hadn’t done this yet, they hadn’t confessed, and they hadn’t touched each other intimately like lovers do.

Because Alura returned and the amnesty bill sparked protests and Cadmus had Jeremiah and Max had the Omegahedron and-and-and—

“Oh my… Astra, _god_ ,” Alex muttered, lips sealing against the skin Astra had willfully exposed when she’d torn her shirt off.

Because why did they need that barrier any more? She didn’t want anything to keep her from Alex, from her skin, from her mouth, from her love and her body, now that she had it all.

Astra cried out when Alex brushed her nipple with a warm, flat tongue. And her hands flew to the hem of Alex’s shirt.

“If you rip this—”

“Take it _off_ , Alex!”

Alex did so in a huff, her voice muffled through the material as she yanked it over her head: “We’re not fucking for the first time on my couch.”

Astra’s hand was already making its merry way toward Alex’s center, so the sharp _Hah!_ and resulting buck from Alex’s hips made the following comment all the more satisfying.

“I beg to differ, Alexandra.”

“Wait, _Christ_ , Astra, please…” Alex canted her hips and rutted against the thigh between her legs as she pulled Astra back on top of her. She lay beneath her, breathing heavily, whimpering, biting her lip harder and harder every time Astra pressed against her underwear.

“I love you so, Alexandra,” Astra swore, pressing kiss upon kiss to the tight tendons in Alex’s neck, pressing even gentler kisses to the discolored bruises at the top of her chest.

“Wait,” Alex said again, and this time Astra stopped everything: stilled her hand, pulled her mouth away, even pushed her torso up to hover over Alex, trying to give her all the space she needed to say whatever it was she needed to say.

“Alex?”

“I don’t want you to move out,” Alex confessed.

“What?”

“With Alura, I… I know she just got here, I know she’s adjusting and I know it’s selfish. I know objectively it would be for the best but I can’t… I don’t want you to go.”

Alex’s hands had wrapped round Astra’s waist in the process of their undressing, and now they were making the delicious journey along the dip of her lower back and over the curve of her buttocks, pulling her down so that their lengths were fully pressed against one another, two parallel lines of uninterrupted potential.

Alex kissed her again, squeezed her ass and moved against her body while her tongue ran along Astra’s lower lip this time. She took her mouth in soft turns, sucking a bit on the lower lip as she pulled away to breathe, and then nibbling, biting and tugging with tender urgency while Astra moved above her.

“I don’t want to go,” Astra confessed, inhaling sharply as Alex’s fingers moved to the front of her underwear and dipped below the waistband.

“Then don’t.”

“I won’t.”

“Stay with me?”

“Yes, yes _of course_.”

“Take me to bed, please, take us to—”

Astra scooped her up and walked them both to Alex’s bedroom. She used her super senses to make sure she did nothing stupid, like run into a wall while Alex wrapped her ankles around the small of Astra’s back and kissed her senseless.

When she set Alex down it was the first time she’d gotten a proper look at her since their confessions on the couch. Naked and bruised and perfect and _hers_ , her love, her forever, her affectionate, indulgent, amorous human who wanted her back. The concept was so utterly shocking that Astra felt tears well up, felt all of her insecurities attack simultaneously, her guilt, her regrets, her sins; until Alex bent at the waist to remove the last barrier to her body, until she stepped forward and tucked her thumbs under the black garment covering Astra’s center, and pulled it down as well.

“You’re staying?” Alex asked again, kissing her way up from Astra’s naval to her sternum so gently Astra had to suppress a shiver.

“I will, I… am. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I love you.”

“Oh, my brave love,” Astra said, carding her hands through Alex’s hair. “I love you, too.”

“Show me,” Alex requested, grabbing her hand and stepping back, toward the bed, toward where they’d lain side-by-side for the past three weeks, always careful, always cautious, always wondering when it would finally lead to _this_.

And so Astra showed her. With touch and taste and promises and the slow, luxurious build that only came when she finally learned to trust her, to believe in her, and then, to love her. They would think of Cadmus another time. Of the omegahedron, another time. Alura had Kara, had her burgeoning friendships with M’gann and with J’onn; and she had something more than friendship growing with one Major Director Lucille Lane... so they would think of Alura another time.

Especially when Astra only had one thing on her mind, laser focus, unwavering intent.

It was finally coming down to pleasure and love, and _Rao above her_ , she prayed not to mess it up.

For Astra had never expected the blessing of Alex, of the serene swell of her lover beneath her, and whispered _I love yous_ in her ear.

**Author's Note:**

> domestic general danvers for your pleasure :D


End file.
